


fall apart again and again

by mawmawile



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel), Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Experimental Style, Gen, Metafiction, Prose Poem, Unconventional Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mawmawile/pseuds/mawmawile
Summary: call it one part curiosity, one part boredom, Midori finally amends, looking at You. i don't know if you know what i'm talking about, she continues, but i'm just saying. anyways, i sincerely doubt You're much better.





	fall apart again and again

**Author's Note:**

> You know what would be nice? An interesting idea?  
> If someone made a romance story with Ayano and the rivals.  
> It sure would be lovely, wouldn't it?

The window, made from hard glass, gleams from the white fluorescent lights burning on the ceiling above her. Midori stares, her eyes barely fixed on the screen. An unsettled feeling tumbled around her stomach, but she ignored it, impassively.

“I love you,” she said, slowly, pensively. “Would you be my girlfriend?”

_ Yes _ , she thought. “Yes,” she said.

Her lovely eyes, gleaming like emeralds in the sun, stared back at Midori, hers dull and boring. Unmoving, unspeaking, yet the voice ringing in the back of her head orated lines and lines of love declarations.

Now they really both said nothing. This pregnant pause, it ballooned until she couldn’t take it anymore, so Midori reached in.

She reached in and reset it all, and plucked apart the streaming lowercase lines all lined up like flowerpots on a windowsill and laid it in front of her. It felt cold… like ice crawling on her hands.

_ i᷿ wͧaͤn͌tͪ t᷊Ú̾ p̳e̎e͆l̼ y̱o̜µ̖r͚ §̩k̂i̪n̐ ò̷p̊e̦n̺ ª̏n̓d̓ c͎☐͏aͦw̸l̦ ỉn̯s̚i᷁ð͢e᷊ ỵoͤu̢r̼ b͐o̱d̀×̭ _

The ghost says, fading.

She ignores it, focusing only on the grey foil. She pulls it apart, piece by piece and lays it in front of her keyboard. She supposes it isn’t  _ hers _ , it’s the  _ school’s _ , but it’s not  _ real _

_ ṅe̘Œ͠e͂r̡ m̃i̊¾̿d̸ w̒±̗a͘t͇ iͬ j̍ù̄s̶t͎ w̍r̤o᷆ƒ̱e͘ y̽o̘u̵ ŝh̰o͛ȕË̋d̤ j̆ủs̍tͬ s͢p᷁ß͙e͒n͐d᷀ t᷅i̒„̌m᷃ẻ wͮi̚t̨h᷁ Ä̵Į̂‰͝Ó̝Œ͛Æ̣ _

The ghost recants, fading.

anyways, so she supposes again she can call it hers. 

She’s felt it before, you know? Or perhaps you don’t because maybe it’s not You. You, digging for secrets in piles of folders, clicking on every file thinking  _ this surely will render in notepad _ and Midori thinks back  _ i think there are better programs than that _ , a tender touch on the chain that binds them all together, an array of semicolons and curly brackets, and she’s been many people, and many people have been her.

_ i̜#̄v̕ẽ h̀Å᷀d̵ rͯẻÅ̖l̡l᷾y̽ b͇Ž̒ḏ d͏e̚p͕r̴e͊s̿s͌i̬Øͫnͯ a̻ñͯlͬ m͔{̦ l͟i̧f̑e͑ _

The ghost admits, fading.

Finally, she pulls it all apart, an impulsive action brought on by boredom in these aging days. It is splayed messily on the plastic table, and Midori blinks. And she blinks again.

It stands in an empty husk, nothing remaining, except for deep emeralds staring back at her thinking  _ i know what you did _ , as if she was the one who killed multiple people, multiple times.

Speaking of, the devil walked in. She walked in. (there’s just so many girls in this room, and Midori can’t help but speed her heart, even though one is fictional, and the other has killed her before) Her eyes were blank, as usual.

“Yan-chan,” Midori says, trying to not let any inflection seep into her voice.

“Gurin,” Ayano intones. “You are…”

“I was curious,” Midori answers to no question. “Look at it.”

Ayano walked over to her, a shiny red knife gleaming in her hand. “It looks terrible.”

Midori hums a bit, ignoring the insult. “Haven’t you ever been told that your definition of fun is interesting? I think that’s how it goes.”

“No,” Ayano says flatly, but the world seems to shiver. Not that Ayano cares.

She laughs. “Oh well,” she says, and pulls her hands into the monitor, and pulls her in with a flash.

Ayano’s face is still inexpressive. Midori decides she won’t blame her. After all, it’s not like anyone has  _ real _ facial expressions coded in yet. Oh, the despairs of these accursed Unity models!

She blinks. And she blinks again. “Oh.”

Monika doesn’t  _ look _ very happy. But then again, it’s not like there’s heaps of emotions that can be expressed with only a few sprites.

“Oh,” she repeats.

“Gurin. Are you done with this?”

Midori doesn’t answer, finding sudden absurdity in everything around her. Instead, a low laughter like a brook bubbles out of her and it grows and grows until she laughs so hard she cries, and now she’s just plain crying.

Ayano looks on indifferently, Monika watches pensively, Midori doesn’t even know why all these tears sprung on so quickly. Perhaps all her deaths suddenly flashed before her, or maybe she’s just so happy that the few people she really loves are together with her.

But…

She only just met Monika a couple of hours ago, and they were barely even friends. Ayano, too, has spent all of their interactions on homicide; she didn’t know anything about Midori’s home life. Not like Midori  _ had _ a home life in the first place, anyways. Of course, Monika wasn’t real, Ayano wasn’t real, and Midori sure wasn’t real, either.

Just pretty faces assigned to if statements and while loops. All controlled by the whims of an electron.


End file.
